As She Ascends

by Jodi Meadows

  ::Try.::

  “What’s this?” A box slid off the second door. “Clever, Captain. You are clever.”

  “What can I say?” The captain didn’t sound at all concerned, considering that Altan was about to find us. “I like doors.”

  ::Mira, focus.::

  Trembling violently, I lifted one foot—and before it could hit the wall with telltale thumps of our presence, Aaru took my ankle and pressed the sole of my slipper against the wood. Then he took the other and placed it on the wall. ::Stay.::

  Silently, he moved to my shoulders and helped me lift myself up.

  ::Push.::

  I gave a jerky half nod. Holding myself up was difficult, and I kept waiting for the wood to groan or bend under the pressure of all of us pushing against it. But as Aaru scrambled to brace himself, too, the wood held fast.

  Within moments, we all held ourselves off the floor—and just in time.

  The second door squeaked open and light shone in.

  Heat rolled through my body, and sweat formed on my brow. My belly. My legs. All I could hear was my ragged breathing. Noisy. Too noisy. I was going to get us caught.

  I held my breath, but then the noise all came from my heart. Pounding. Aching. Slowing because I wasn’t breathing.

  Time stretched. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t help but watch as Altan’s arm reached through and touched the floor. The light extended farther out, and though I couldn’t see his head poking into our space, I could imagine him glancing around.

  My foot slipped.

  Panic thundered through me, and I gasped.

  I was going to get us caught. Killed. All because I couldn’t control my own body.

  Despair clawed at me, forcing a terrified cry up my throat. I swallowed it back. And back. And back. And I squeezed my eyes shut. One. Two. Three.

  Four.

  Five.

  Six.

  I counted anything.

  Seven.

  Eight.

  I counted everything.

  Nine.

  Ten.

  As always, my mind resorted to pointless numbers when it needed to plan for the worst. When it needed to be sharp like Gerel’s.

  Eleven.

  Twelve.

  Only as the light retreated did I realize we hadn’t been caught. Only as the door slammed shut at a normal volume did I realize that every sound had been muted.

  Even my breathing. Even the scrape of my foot on the wall. Even my gasp.

  “Satisfied?” Captain Pentoba sounded highly annoyed.

  “No.” Altan’s light moved upward as he climbed out of the first compartment. “I’ll be satisfied when I apprehend her and her friends.”

  “Better get to looking elsewhere, then. I heard Karina’s Flag will be heading to Damina. That’s where Mira is likely to go, isn’t it?”

  The top door slammed shut, followed by the whap of the rug as they covered the hatch again. “I’ll look into it.” Altan didn’t sound convinced, but he was leaving.

  He was leaving.

  I could hardly believe it.

  Three, four, five: Altan’s footsteps banged on the floor as he left the captain’s quarters.

  “All right,” Gerel whispered. “It’s safe to get down.”

  Carefully, we all lowered ourselves to the floor again, and Gerel brought out the noorestone she’d hidden.

  I didn’t want to look at anyone. How could I when I was the liability? I rolled onto my elbows and knees and pressed my forehead to the cool floor. Sweat dripped off my face, smelling salty and sour.

  “Mira?” Chenda’s voice was quiet. “Are you—”

  “Just give her space.” Hristo knew about the panic, of course. He’d seen me after stressful speeches and the way my hands shook as I opened the bottle of calming pills. He’d seen me after the time Mother had yelled at me for not putting on my cosmetics correctly, and I’d spent hours in front of my mirrors applying and reapplying creams and powders.

  I wanted my medicine.

  I wanted to melt into the floor.

  Ilina’s touch was featherlight, just reassurance of her presence. But when she spoke, it wasn’t to me. “Chenda, was that you with the shadows?”

  “It was.” The Dawn Lady sounded cool and calm. Why couldn’t I be like her? “Once the light came in, it was easy to call the shadows to obscure us.”

  “And the sound?” Hristo asked. “Everything was quieter.”

  No one spoke.

  “Thank you.” The floor swallowed most of my words. “For hiding us.”

  “Of course,” Chenda said.

  ::Always.:: Aaru’s quiet code came against my shoulder. ::All right?::

  A long groan poured out of me. I was not all right. Adrenaline and terror still surged through me, even though the danger had passed. Even though I knew Altan was leaving the ship, my traitorous mind and body didn’t care.

  And on top of that, this was humiliating. Here I was, the Hopebearer. The Dragonhearted. The Mira Minkoba.

  Curled on the floor and crying.

  “Hey.” Ilina tugged at my forearm. “Come over here with me.”

  When I sat up, she reached into the dragon basket and took out one of the noorestones. Then, we moved to the opposite side of the room, where we had a small measure of privacy.

  She smoothed back my hair and took my face in her hands. “Breathe with me.”

  I closed my eyes. Her palms were cool on my flushed, sweat- and tear-streaked cheeks, and when I heard her inhale, I breathed in, too.

  Together, we breathed out.

  Two times.

  Three times.

  She controlled her breathing, so all I had to do was copy. And with every long, even breath, my heart rate eased and the rush of terror abated. I was safe.

  Safe with my best friend. My wingsister.

  She released my face. “There. That’s better.”

  I nodded, though it hadn’t been a question. We both knew she was right. “I’m sorry.” I scrubbed my hands over my cheeks, trying not to cringe at the feel of scar tissue. If I let myself think about Ilina—or anyone—touching it, I’d spiral again.

  “Nothing to be sorry about.” She scooted until she sat next to me, put one arm around my shoulders, and drew me to her. “When was the last time you had your pills?”

  “Before.” I leaned my head against hers. “Before the Luminary Council came for me.”

  “Have you been having attacks this whole time?”

  I nodded. The Pit felt like one giant panic attack. Highs and lows, yes, but every moment had held that low-grade terror.

  “What have you been doing to get through them?”

  “Trying to do what Doctor Chilikoba said. Start with breathing. And—” I’d never told Ilina about the counting, but Aaru knew and he didn’t think less of me. Ilina would understand, too. “And I—”

  The words wouldn’t come out.

  “It’s all right. You don’t have to say.” She squeezed me. “You’ve been really strong, Mira. It’s not easy to get through attacks like that without medicine, is it?”

  “It feels like I’m dying.” I took a shuddering breath. “I thought I was going to get us caught just now.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment. “I feel like I should be stronger than I am.”

  “What do you mean?”

  A pale laugh slipped out of me. “I mean, I’ve been through so much worse than this.”

  She touched my shoulder. “No one gets stronger all at once. It happens in pieces, and the hurts with the deepest roots take the longest to heal.”

  My anxiety, my insecurities—those had roots so deep and dense I’d long ago assumed they were my foundation. But if Ilina was right . . . it just took time. Maybe a lot of time, or maybe they would never fully go away. But I could learn to control them.

  “What you did back in the tunnel was brave,” she went on. “And don’t forget the speech in Bopha: you p
ut others before yourself. Same as when you chose to go back to the Pit to rescue those three. Your selflessness is your strength.” The corner of her mouth tipped up in a smile. “You’re my wingsister, Mira Minkoba. I see all the ways you’ve changed since we found those shipping orders, and trust me, you are getting stronger. Stumbling means you aren’t standing still.”

  Love filled up my heart. I didn’t deserve her. “Do you practice these speeches in your free time?”

  “Every day, just in case.”

  A screech alerted us to someone coming, and a pair of dragon heads popped up from the basket, curiosity making their eyes wide and round. Seconds later, Captain Pentoba called down, “Everyone all right?”

  Gerel answered from the other side of the bottom. “We’re going to live.”

  “Glad to hear it.” The captain lowered our bags through the hatch, followed by bladders of water. “You’ll have to stay down there a bit longer. The crew will get a cabin made up for you, but until then, I think it’s best you stay out of the way. We haven’t left Lorn-tah yet, but we will as soon as the tide rises.”

  I hated the idea of staying in this cramped place any longer, but how could I argue when Captain Pentoba and her crew were helping us?

  “So,” said the captain. “Where are we going?”

  I pulled myself straight and met Ilina’s eyes. Then we both glanced toward the dragons sleeping in their basket. “Val fa Merce.” My voice shook a little, but the words were out.

  “Right. We’ll be there tomorrow afternoon. Get comfortable.”

  Before she could shut the door, I asked, “Do you have a medic on board?”

  “Yes.”

  I looked at Hristo. “Go up. Get your hand looked at.”

  He glanced at the bandages, then nodded. At the very least, a medic could make sure it wasn’t infected.

  When Hristo and the captain were gone, Chenda grabbed one of the blankets and a bladder of water. “It seems rude to leave us down here. She could have let us up there to wash ourselves.”

  But the supplies dropped down had included a few washcloths, which we dampened to scrub the dirt from our faces, necks, hands, and arms. It wasn’t perfect, but I felt much better with even part of me clean.

  There were no changes of clothes.

  “Mira.” Ilina opened the dragons’ basket. “I need your help with LaLa’s wing.”

  She didn’t really—Ilina had done this sort of thing dozens of times without my help—but maybe she just wanted to help me focus my whirling thoughts.

  I gathered LaLa into my arms, my sweet little dragon flower. She shivered with pain, but looked up at me as I drew her to my chest. “You’re such a brave little lizard,” I whispered, and she breathed a puff of smoke at me. Usually it was a sign of affection, but now it felt like her telling me how badly she hurt. How she couldn’t move her wing without agony. How she couldn’t balance right. How she couldn’t fly.

  I kissed the top of her head and stroked her while Ilina constructed the splint. “We’re going to help you, sweet dragon. I promise.”

  “All right,” Ilina said. “I have to set the bones now. It’s going to hurt, especially if they’ve started to fuse already.”

  Dragon bones were like bird bones: they healed very quickly, and if they weren’t set properly right away, LaLa might never fly again. It had only been a few hours, though. LaLa would fly again. She would.

  With a few pieces of dried meat and fruit ready to offer as treats, I met Ilina’s eyes. “All right. When you’re ready.”

  LATER, I DREAMED of flying.

  Of great wings and burning stars.

  Of fire and screams.

  AARU

  Eight Years Ago

  WHEN THE DRAGON ARRIVED, SO DID SAFA’S POWER.

  We were walking together through the field, gathering fallen reeds for Mother to weave into mats, when I heard it: a sharp and hollow noise like a strange clap of thunder. But not thunder. The skies, while gray, were filled with the sort of clouds that brought a light, pattering rain; these were not storm clouds.

  I used my sleeve to wipe water from my eyes, then looked up. Waiting to hear it again. And Safa, always attentive to my responses to sound, tensed and watched me.

  ::What?:: Safa’s hand slipped into my free one, her question soundless against my knuckles.

  ::Big noise.:: I scanned the clouds, searching. ::In the sky.::

  ::Thunder?::

  I shook my head. In the two years since Safa and I found each other in the rain, we had tested her hearing. She could sense thunder, screaming, and banging. Loud noises, especially when there was some tactile accompaniment, like vibrations in the ground. Sometimes, she could feel the sounds as much as she could hear them.

  But not this time. The sound had been too strange. Too far away. And—

  Safa pointed up.

  An enormous beast sailed through the sky, shredding clouds with every pump of its wings. It had scales the color of foamy water, and wings so big they could block out the sun.

  A dragon.

  A big one.

  Save in drawings and my limited imagination, I’d never seen a dragon before. Dragons lived in the sanctuaries, and the only one I knew of was near Summerill. Never in my life had I thought I’d actually see one.

  I lifted my arms and waved, hoping—in the way only a nine-year-old child could hope—that it would notice me and come to visit us.

  Frantically, Safa tugged at my shirt and shook her head.

  ::It’s all right,:: I tapped. ::Dragons are friendly. They live in sanctuaries where humans take care of them.::

  She was still shaking her head.

  ::The Hopebearer has a dragon, you know.:: Everyone knew that, including Safa. Especially Safa, who dreamed of being like the Hopebearer one day; I didn’t have the heart to tell her that people like the Hopebearer never came from Idris.

  ::She has a little dragon.:: Safa had kept her eyes on the sky, and now alarm filled her face. ::It saw you.::

  She was right.

  When I looked over my shoulder, the dragon had dropped from the sky and was flying toward us—fast. Its belly hissed over stalks, like fiery wind, and all I could see were its strong jaw and long teeth and hard, ember-dark eyes.

  I dropped my reeds, grabbed Safa’s arm, and ran.

  We moved as fast as we could, ducking below the cane as though we might be able to hide from such a creature.

  My heart pounded, echoing in my throat and head. We weren’t going to make it to safety, not that I even knew where safety was. Not toward Grace Community. Not toward one of the farmhouses. We couldn’t put other lives at risk.

  Then I tripped, my feet caught on my own haste to escape. “Run,” I said to Safa, and though she’d turned when I’d fallen, she wasn’t looking at me now.

  Her dark eyes were trained on the dragon, which was stomping up behind me, and her mouth fell open as though to scream—

  Silence fell out.

  Sudden. Complete. Overwhelming.

  Silence.

  It was a bubble around us, as heavy as the air before a storm. But no wind. No patter as rain hit sugar stalks. Even the thudding of my own heartbeat had been taken.

  The dragon thrashed its head, as though it could shake away the confusing silence. But the silence persisted, growing and growing, and at last the dragon tore away from us with a soundless snort.

  It flew away, and the silence Safa had caused evaporated.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  QUIET FILLED OUR SPACE WHEN I OPENED MY EYES.

  Darkness softened the sharp corners, while noorestones nestled in the dragons’ basket offered just enough light to remind us that we were safe.

  Shapes of sleeping people were scattered across the bottom. One, two, three, four . . .

  I sat up, looking for Aaru. But the moment I moved, I felt him—a pressure in the air next to me, the sound of his breathing. And so when he touched my arm, I wasn’t surprised.

  ::Here.::
/>
  Carefully, I lowered myself once more, and he pulled away.

  The worst of my panic attack had worn off, and I was still tired, but the knowledge of Aaru so close to me—that I could not ignore.

  Slowly, I moved my hand toward him, counting the finger-steps between us. Three, four, five . . .

  My fingertips brushed the fabric of his blanket, and then warm, rough skin touched the back of my hand. Questioning.

  I turned over my hand, tangled my fingers with his, and tried not to imagine that this was more than both of us flat on our backs and a slim connection between us. There might as well have been a wall.

  He was leaving.

  When we reached Val fa Merce, he’d get a new identity and find a ship bound for Summerill. I might never see him again.

  But when I turned my head to look at him, he was looking at me, too. Light from the noorestones touched his face, highlighting the lines of his cheekbone and brow, and the curve of his lips. I wished I could touch him like that light did. Gently. Carefully. All over.

  He was not soft like the boys I’d met at charity parties and state dinners. No, he was sharp from hard work, and lean from hunger. He had strength through silence, but it wasn’t about the silence. It was his belief. His faith. It was the core of what made him Aaru that also made him strong.

  I knew why he had to go, and that it might be safer for him if he did.

  Just as I realized he’d been rubbing his thumb across mine, he stopped. ::You look worried.::

  I nodded.

  ::I listen when I’m worried.::

  ::To what?::

  His shoulder lifted slightly. ::I just listen.::

  I didn’t want to listen to anything and everything; I wanted to listen to him. But I couldn’t come out and tell him I was already saying good-bye to him in my head, so I closed my eyes. And I listened.

  I heard breathing, long and even: the sounds of sleeping. Gerel snored quietly, while Hristo sighed. Ilina mumbled something incoherent, and Chenda just rested peacefully. In a blanket nest, the dragons traded soft meeps as they snuggled closer.

  And then I heard the breath of the ship and sea: the creaks of wood above and below; the brush of water against the hull; and the snap of sails as wind caught. The light didn’t change down here, and there were no portholes, but I could tell the tide was right and we were getting ready to leave.